


Made Whole

by Gohans_Onna2



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Love, Making Love, Sansa can't live without Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8380372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gohans_Onna2/pseuds/Gohans_Onna2
Summary: Sansa discovers that the only thing left in the world that will make her whole is Jon.
He feels the same.





	

**Author’s Note** : While I was on the Jon x Sansa train long before the majority of the fandom was, I figured I needed to write a short story and get it out of my system before I went insane. Enjoy <3

* * *

 

 

Made Whole

 

It was over.

The Others had been destroyed, the wars were over, and everyone was home. Everything was right with the world, everyone was whole.

More or less.

She watched the man she had once thought of as her bastard half-brother. She knew better now. No longer a bastard, no longer a brother. Something else.

Daenerys had granted him the name Targaryen and the North to rule, but Jon wanted nothing to do with it. He wanted nothing to do with anything after the fighting ended. He had gone home to Winterfell and walked through the halls like a shade of himself. Despite the warmth of the castle and the joy of its people, it didn’t matter.

Jon was not whole.

She understood why. She had been by his side through much of the war, there to tend to his wounds, to comfort him when he all he wanted was for it to end. To tell him he was strong when he was so tired he could barely stand. She would wait in his tent during the fighting, sick to her stomach, alternatively crying and wanting to scream because she didn’t know if it would be that _time_ , that one battle, where he would not come back.

But he always did. He always came back to her. He would come back bloody and bruised, scrapes and cuts and gashes covering his body, but none of it would matter to her. She would rush into his arms and just hold him, so grateful that he was alive. Him, the only thing in the world that she had.

And she knew it was the same for him.

Jon had shunned the titles given to him by Daenerys. King in the North or even Lord of Winterfell had meant nothing to him. He handed it off to Bran, and then he disappeared.

She had been beside herself with worry, afraid that he had gone into the mountains to die like the clansmen did when they were old or sick. Every day that ticked by made her muscles more tense, made her stomach clench more. Food was hard to eat; sleep was hard to come by. People told her to give up—that he had left for good. They told her to move on with her life.

But she would wait there until the end of time, she told herself. It didn’t matter. She would wait every day until she died, sitting at the battlements, uncaring of anything going on around her, hoping that she would see him return home.

And he did. She had hoped that maybe he had needed the alone time, that he had found that missing part of himself that they both knew was lost.

Apparently he had.

It had been late. The sun had long since set, cloaking the world around her in darkness. She didn’t typically stay after the sun had gone down, but for some reason, that day felt different.

She’d seen the dim figure growing larger at each step and hadn’t thought too much of it. A straggler that had missed the gate closing. It happened occasionally.

But then she’d seen the shadowy white wolf, and she had felt her heart begin to sing.

She went to a postern door and ran for him. Ran so hard that her lungs had felt like bursting. At first she thought he hadn’t seen her, but then he too, ran.

Their collision had sucked the air from both of their chests, but neither had cared. They clung to each other, both crying, Jon saying he was sorry and he was stupid and he should have never left. She’d sobbed into his shoulder, hitting him, telling him that he was never allowed to leave again, not without her. She would go anywhere with him, she told him. But he could never leave her, ever again.

“I love you, Sansa.”

The words had been said around tears and breathlessness. He’d poured his heart out to her, clinging to her so hard that it had ached.

“I should have never left. Not you. Never again. I will never leave your side. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

It had broken her to hear those words, to hear him say them.

“Jon,” she whispered, tears refusing to cease. He rubbed his beard against her cheek, and she in turn nestled against him. “I love you so.”

She didn’t know how long they had held each other, standing outside Winterfell in the darkness. The spring snow had long since soaked into her soft slippers, but she would have willingly gotten frostbite if it meant he would never let her go.

He hadn’t bothered walking beside her back into the castle. He picked her up and held her against his chest, needing her as near as possible, she knew. She needed him too.

They’d slept together in her bed, holding each other all night. They hadn’t even bothered to change out of their clothes they had both been so exhausted. She found out later that they had slept for two days straight, neither moving...just clinging to one another.

The next several weeks became routine. Jon was never without Sansa. Even if he was doing something by himself, like swordplay in the practice yard, she was never far. If she was working on a dress, he was sitting nearby, reading a book. Sometimes they would look up and share a private smile.

But one night he disappeared again and Sansa feared the worst. Could he have left her once more? Had he gotten sick of her and all the time they spent together? She thought frantically of anything that could have pushed him away and could only think that he had become sickened at the sight of her scars. Most were faint, such as the ones on her back—a gift from Joffrey—but others were more raised and red as they were newer and deeper—a gift from Ramsay.

During the war, Jon would come back sometimes days after he had left. He would be so drained that it would be hard for him to pick his feet off the ground. She would assist him as he undressed, uncaring at his protests and modesty issues, and help him into a wooden tub or even just have him lay upon his bed roll so she could wipe him down. He’d groan with agony as she cleaned him and grit his teeth the many times she would have to stitch his wounds. His nakedness had never been a problem to her.

But upon his return to Winterfell and his insistence that he not leave her side, she had needed to bathe in front of him as well. She had been bothered by it, afraid that he would hate her for the sight of her own scars, but he had never said a word as he helped wash her hair and held a fire-warmed towel out for her when she was done. It hadn’t taken long for her to also become comfortable with that routine.

He never told her that he loved her again after that first time, either. She didn’t really think much of it, just that he was showing her in his actions rather than words. The way he cared for her was so intense and thoughtful that sometimes she would be stunned that a man like him existed. After all of the abuse she had suffered at the hands of men, she had truly thought that no men existed that were like her father.

She began frantically searching the castle, desperate to find him. She asked the servants if they had seen him, asked the men-at-arms. She even bothered Bran in his chamber, something she rarely did. There was something off about him, something that made her a bit uncomfortable, and this time was no different.

But he had an answer for her, oddly enough.

“The godswood. He’s at the heart tree, Sansa.”

She flew through the castle passageways, afraid that something was wrong. Since his return he had become much of what he had been before the war had begun. Although Jon had never been one for lots of laughter and smiles, she could typically coax both out of him a few times a day.

She hoped that something hadn’t happened to make him upset or the way that he had been before. The five moons she had waited for him had been so hard on her. She couldn’t lose him again.

She stopped when she came to the godswood. She could see him sitting on the large, flat rock that her father had sat on so many times, cleaning Ice on his lap.

Jon was doing the same now. Longclaw lay across his legs, the dark ripples of the steel reflecting in golden hues from the setting sun.  His movements were slow, repetitive.

She watched him, her heart calming its desperate staccato when she saw how peaceful and relaxed he was. Nothing seemed wrong on the exterior, so she could only hope that inside he was the same.

“Jon?”

His head turned slightly to the side so he could see her. To her shock, she saw his face start to turn pink. He turned back to his sword.

She stepped closer to him, but it was almost as if he leaned away from her.

She frowned, fear clawing at her. It settled low in her throat, making her swallow hard before she spoke. “Are you mad at me?”

He snorted. Jon, snorted. _What?_

She blinked, uncertain on how to proceed. His dark brown hair ruffled in the wind, and she found herself wanting to touch it. She always stroked his hair at night, when they were laying together in bed, holding one another. He would often rest his head on the soft spot between her shoulder and breast and just rest there, while she would run her fingers through his hair. Sometimes they would talk; sometimes they would be silent and just enjoy each other’s presence. The quiet was soothing, with the fire crackling in the background.

The fading light of the orange sun made him glow. She admired the look of his skin then; skin that she could see faded scars that he had earned in battle. Scars that she had tended to herself. She had always thought that they made him dangerously attractive.

He turned to look at her again, his movements seemingly unsure. She tilted her head to the side, smiling faintly with burgeoning hope. In the deepening colors of evening his eyes were dark, almost black. She’d never noticed how expressive his eyes were until the last few weeks as they had grown closer and closer. They often lightened and darkened with his moods or even the colors around him, such as now.

“You look so beautiful right now, Jon,” she breathed, unable to help herself from saying those words.

His eyes went wide, his cheeks reddening further. “Men are not beautiful, Sansa,” he said gruffly.

Her smile widened and she stepped closer to him, her feet silent on the wet leaves. “You are. If you could only see yourself right now. See how I see you.”

A red leaf from the ancient weirwood fell then, fluttering to the pool of water Jon was sitting by. They watched it fall together, watched as it delicately rested upon the surface, soft ripples flowing outwards until they died quietly.

She took the last few steps towards him, so she was able to touch him. The black fur at his shoulders was soft, and below that was leather and solid muscle. She squeezed just slightly, and then he stood, sheathing his sword with a crisp metallic sound.

She pointed to the pool, which reflected everything so clearly in its stillness. “Look at yourself, Jon. Do you not see what I see?”

His lip curled slightly as he looked down into the water. It was darkening quickly, but he would be able to make out his features easily enough.

“I see something beautiful, yes.”

She grinned with delight. “I told you—”

“I see you.”

Her smile faltered with surprise. “Me?”

He turned then, facing her directly. His hand reached up to her loose hair, his fingers grabbing a long lock and running through it until it fell softly, curling around the curve of her breast.

When he looked up, staring into her eyes, she gasped. His gaze was so deep, so intense, she felt it deep down into her very bones.

His hands reached for her then, and she silently hoped he would embrace her. He did not, however. Instead they rested on her arms, right below her shoulders.

It felt...awkward.

She licked her lips, nervous. He was acting odd, and she was about to ask him to talk to her, when he spoke.

“I’ve been hiding something from you, Sansa,” he said softly, anxiously, and she immediately feared the worst. She felt her heart begin to thump painfully in her chest, her stomach tighten. She felt ill all over again.

“Whatever it is, Jon, it doesn’t matter. We will figure it out, I promise. Just don’t leave me again. I couldn’t bear...”

Light reached his eyes in a manner that suggested faint amusement. Or maybe something else. Her lips parted to speak once more, but she was never able to.

His mouth crashed against hers.

A million thoughts exploded through her mind in an instant. Her eyes, wide open from shock, could see that his own eyes were closed. She could also see desperation, almost pain upon his features as his lips pressed to hers. She could feel their warmth, their softness. The flush upon his cheeks, whether it was from the cold or this, she didn’t know. All she knew was that he was so, so beautiful to her.

She melted into him.

His groan set her whole body aflame. The sound spoke of a need so intense, so strong, that she felt herself tremble. His hands moved, one to cup the back of her head, the other to pull her closer, pressing her against him. Even through their layers of clothes she could feel how much he wanted her.

“Jon,” she gasped, clutching at his leather jerkin. Her knees were watery, her legs shaking as his mouth slanted over hers, his tongue invading her, tasting her, taking from her. She had never been kissed in such a way, and it didn’t take long for her to surge against him, demanding more.

He began walking her backwards. They stumbled a few times but did not care or voice a single word. His lips remained on hers as if he wanted to devour her, as if he could consume her just with his mouth and tongue. The thought evoked a heated response from her and she began tearing off her cloak, her fingers stumbling over the clasp and ties.

And then his hands were there, helping her. She bumped into a tree, her foot stepping into squishy moss near another heated pool, deeper into the woods.

She realized then what was happening. That Jon had walked her away from the castle, to where they could not be seen, so he could...

“Jon...”

He was awakening something in her...something that she had never felt before. She knew it to be desire, but had thought that she would never experience its like. She had heard other women whisper about it, and the kitchen maids giggle over their talks of what happened the evening before. She had resigned herself to a lifetime of solitude, especially after what had happened with Joffrey and Ramsay.

Until Jon had come along.

His hands were roaming over her gown now. His lips had left hers to press burning kisses along her neck, and she panted, not knowing what to do but not wanting him to stop.

“Jon,” she said, her throat making a keening sound, her hands unsure on his back and shoulders, clutching at him. She wanted to please him, to touch him as well, but he was so dominating, so intense in what he was doing to her, there was nothing she could do but gasp and moan and shudder under his onslaught.

Her clothes were peeled away. She found herself wanting to be naked under his touch. For the first time ever, she wanted a man to do these things to her. She felt shy, but needy. Clumsy, but willing. It was as if Ramsay had never been there, as if Jon were the first...

She seized that thought and held onto it tightly. The horrible things that had been done to her had never happened. Jon was the first—the first to kiss her like this, to touch her, to see her naked. It was her wedding night, and he was her husband...

She was so absorbed in her fantasy that she didn’t notice how many articles of clothing had been divested. Cool air touched her legs as her dress fell to the wet ground, leaving her in a shift and smallclothes. She fought the urge to cover herself from Jon’s gaze, but forced herself to let him see her as she was, without shame.

To distract herself, she began removing his clothing. His wool cloak, his baldric, his sleeveless leather jerkin, his tunic. As soon as his chest was bare she pressed sloppy wet kisses upon it, wanting to do anything to please him.

His response was more than she could have asked for.

“Sansa,” he gasped, his head falling back as her hands explored him shyly. Warmth flooded her, made her feel hot even in the chill of the night. She became bolder, touched every inch of him that she could reach, her fingers craving the feel of his flesh. Under her fingertips she could feel his old wounds, and soon she found herself kissing each hurt as if she could heal them with just her mouth. She felt him shudder at each caress of her lips, his breath turning to gasps as she moved down his chest to his stomach, where she felt the hard muscles tighten.

Her hands went to the ties at his breeches, her face flaming when she felt the evidence of his arousal. She’d seen enough men naked in her lifetime to know what it was, had experienced it herself in a manner most negative...but through her nervousness she felt extreme curiosity and the urge to please him in any way she could.

Her fingers stumbled one too many times in their urgency, and soon he was helping. He barely had them untied before he had his arms around her again, lifting her to her feet, kissing her fervently. She tugged at her shift, trying to undo the small pearl buttons at her throat, but she could not do that either. With a growl of frustration she yanked, sending the buttons flying and the cloth to tearing. It ripped enough for her to shrug out of it, and she kicked it away.

She pulled at the waist of his open breeches, wanting them off. His hands were there again, helping her yank them down along with his smallclothes.

And then he was naked. She hadn’t realized that she’d taken a step back to look at him until he was trying to embrace her again. She shook her head and held out her arm.

“I would look at you.”

He let out a nervous laugh. “You see me naked every day, Sansa,” he said softly, an amused smile gracing his face.

She looked at him then, at nothing else but his eyes. She wanted him to understand what she was about to say, that this was special. “This time is different. And so it shall be every time, for the rest of our lives.”

His smile fell. His expression changed to a look of intense hunger, of a yearning she had never seen upon his face before. It was as if his soul were bare, there for her to see in all its beauty. Its wildness, fear, love, and hate were all there. His darkness fell away, the sadness. And in turn, hers began to as well.

“That is all I ever wanted,” he whispered reverently, and she felt the warmth of tears and love fill her and spill forth.

“I need you,” she breathed, reaching for him now. “I have never needed anything...anyone, as much as I need you, Jon.”

Then he was in her arms. Her smallclothes fell away in a matter of moments, and then his hands...oh, his hands. They were firm yet tender, leaving trails of heat in their wake, making her gasp and strain against him. The feel of his bare skin against hers was more than she had imagined, more than she could have anticipated. He felt perfect—he aligned seamlessly with her, as if he had been made to be hers.

Hers. She closed her eyes with the thought, her teeth finding her lower lip and biting hard, praying that this wasn’t a dream.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” she heard then, and she opened her eyes to see him staring at her. She felt her heart flutter at his words. He had long since laid her upon their cloaks, on a soft bit of moss under a sentinel, deep in the godswood. The moon shone down through the limbs of the trees, making their skin look silver in the light. He shone in such a way that it seemed as if his scars were gone, as if they had never happened.

His hand, warm from exploring her skin, moved up her arm, her neck, and then cupped her cheek. She clutched at him, her lips parted as she panted with desire.

“Please,” she whispered, her legs wrapping around his hips. “Make me whole again, Jon.”

He trembled at her words. The heat of his skin became more intense as he moved nearer, his lips feathering over hers in just the lightest touch. She felt his hand upon her hip, felt him spread her legs wider as he positioned himself.

She heard him draw in a deep breath, and watched his face as he entered her. She felt her eyelids flutter at the slow, gentle sensation of him filling her. She couldn’t help the arching of her back or the desperate spasming of her fingers on his shoulders, all she knew was it didn’t hurt. It felt so different from what she knew that she gasped again and again, her body overcome with the wondrous feeling of him inside her.

And then he began moving. She dug her nails into his back, her hips lifting to meet his, her eyes wide as she looked up at him.

“I didn’t know,” she said, her words ending on a sob. “I didn’t know...”

He held her closer then, his face burying into her hair and her shoulder. She wrapped every limb around him, feeling like she wasn’t close enough to him, wishing that she could be filled with every part of him.

“Sansa,” he murmured against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. His hands grasped her hips tighter, his movements coming faster, a little harder, just enough to make her moan wildly into his mouth as he went to kiss her.

“Ohhhh! Ohhhh...” She thrashed her head back and forth, unable to explain the feelings building inside her, but knowing instinctively that something was going to happen if he didn’t stop. She said as much to him, and his answering groan made the feeling grow stronger. Her body felt tightly wound, her muscles straining, her heart pounding.

And then she was falling. Like a star in the sky, falling towards her, exploding on impact. She gasped, her entire body tensing, pleasure flooding her unlike anything she had ever felt before.

“Jon!” she cried, tears slipping from her eyes as he held her closely, his own body answering hers with a deep groan.

They both lay there, breathing harshly. She cradled him against her, his chest heaving alongside her own.

He lifted his head then, and looked down at her. His fingers brushed aside some of the hair that had stuck to her damp skin, and she felt her whole face soften when she gazed into his eyes.

“I love you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers continued their gentle strokes along her hair. “I never thought that I would feel normal again. But you...you make me feel like I did...so long ago. Before the war...the death...before I found out who I really was.”

“Whole?” she asked, her hand moving to his cheek.

He looked contemplative for a moment, and then he nodded. “Yes.”

A smile touched her lips. “Me too.”

 

 


End file.
